Prior to buying our house last year, we were renting an apartment in town.
The apartment block contained 15 units, three on each level, all three bedroom. Rent was $375 per week, quite low for a 65sqm apartment in town.
It was a cheap concrete construction with an external staircase and lift.
Not surprisingly, it seemed to attract a certain demographic of tenants.
We had the police knocking on our door at midnight asking questions about one of the previous inhabitants. The police also turned up several other times to sort out domestic issues, or something.
We had a neighbour knocking on our door, wanting to know if he could borrow a condom.*
There was the 3am chap, who locked himself out and pleaded us to let him in so he could climb over the balcony in some drunken, gravity-defying stunt to reach his own apartment. (I guess had we allowed him in, we could have have contributed to the Darwin awards).
There were the weeknight parties that made the entire building vibrate.
And then there was the night-time industry of Gundry Street, and the apartment’s adjacent gravel pit where a lot of those transactions took place.
The building manager was a nice chap, but we felt sorry for him, as he was forever clearing broken bottles from the car park, cleaning the rubbish juices and graffiti in the lift, and dealing with the overflowing fester-mess from people who couldn’t work out that rubbish bags should go in the bins provided.
Still, I was surprised to hear that there was a murder there yesterday.
Maybe it was the neighbour with the restraining order against her boyfriend. Maybe it was the women who seemed to be a freelancing escort.
The police state they are seeking no further leads in their inquiry.
This relieves me, as the incident happened on the top floor, our floor. And we never did commercially clean our carpet, but did leave a small blood stain from too much kitchen excitement, along with probably any number of hairs, finger nails, and other micro DNA buried deep within the cheap carpet fibers.
My thoughts and sympathies are with the victim’s family, and I hope the killer is brought to justice.
Normally, while sympathizing with victims of violent crime, we subconsciously comfort ourselves with the fact that at least our own neighbourhood is safe.
It’s a little more hard-hitting when you realize it can happen in a place you once called home.
*My bets are on him